Inheritance
For every mother who thought she lost herself becoming someone else's home.
They say I have your eyes—
but I think I inherited your silence.
The kind that blooms in doorways
and lingers in the sigh before a sentence.
I watched you wash the same dish
until it forgot it was glass.
You said it was better this way—
to be useful, than to be known.
Now I’m here,
mothering in the margins,
folding myself into
baby blankets and breastmilk,
trying to remember
what I used to want.
Some days I don’t speak
except in lullabies.
And on the best days—
that is enough.
But I still look in the mirror
for the girl
who once believed
she could fill pages
instead of plates.
And maybe she’s still there,
humming under my breath
while I do the dishes.
About the Creator
Carolina Borges
I've been pouring my soul onto paper and word docs since 2014
Poet of motherhood, memory & quiet strength
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Self Help: Grifters' Gospel
On Self-Help, Snake Oil, and the Illusion of Change Psychology professionals and students can be imagined on two opposite sides of a line called self-help books: likely a larger group opposes pop-science and step-by-step manuals filled with talk of success, journaling, and not giving a f**k; others love them, but they aren’t many.
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P a day ago in BookClub
Comments (7)
A poignant poem. My Mum would remind me that there’s a season for everything. One day that girl will “fill pages”.🩵
Well-wrought! To write from experience, I believe, helps us produce our best work. To be useful is to be known in ways that celebrity can never confer, as through this continuum we get to know our selves.
This is extraordinary, Carolina! Raw, insightful, beautiful and heartbreaking! And artistry? Your art could fill a lot more than pages, it could and should fill volumes! Good luck on the challenge!
"But I still look in the mirror for the girl who once believed she could fill pages instead of plates." I especially loved that stanza!
She is! This is so perfect in how it captures that all-encompassingness of motherhood 💜
Just lovely. My friend calls them the 'squeeze years' because there's never enough time, money, sex, sleep... but when they ease off, you feel a deep sense of gratitude.
I am not a mother but my sister explains this exact feeling to me often! I’ve been her ear for these type of moments and this was such a beautiful, elegant and raw poem. Words woven together with true emotion. I could quote so many lines that packed a punch! “Some days I don’t speak except in lullabies. And on the best days— that is enough” “And maybe she’s still there, humming under my breath while I do the dishes.“ Just wow. Clearly that woman is still in there and she’s right here on vocal rocking both lives! Great job!